


There is suffering too terrible to name

by AsphyxiousThesis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Healing, Hurt Miya Atsumu, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Miya Atsumu Whump, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, Protective Miya Osamu, Rape Recovery, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsphyxiousThesis/pseuds/AsphyxiousThesis
Summary: An event leaves Atsumu broken and a shadow of his former self, stumbling and passing out in the doorway of Onigiri Miya. It's up to Osamu to try and put his brother's broken pieces together while keeping himself from falling apart. Thankfully, they have people who are more than willing to help the broken setter become the man he used to be once again.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 21
Kudos: 243





	1. Start

**Author's Note:**

> My first Haikyu fic! I was craving angst so now you get some Miya brother stuff.

It’s raining. Does it have to be raining? That’s too dramatic. He’s being dramatic. No- he’s not. Cold. Wet. The ground is dirty. Going numb. What would Omi-kun say if he saw him now?

No. 

No one can see him.

Hurts.

It all hurts. Why does it hurt? Why did it happen to him? Better him than someone else. There’s blood in his mouth. Blood and something else. Salty. He doesn’t like it. His cheek scrapes against the concrete. Open mouth. Spit. It’s still there. Still dirty. Tilt head just a bit. Drink some of the rainwater flooding around him. Let it sit in his mouth. Trickle back out. Repeat. 

Repeat. 

Repeat.

Repeat.

Wash out the memory running through his mind. His brain. His body. Phantom touches. Pain, the worst in his life, spread throughout his whole body. His head, his scalp, it hurts. Pulled his hair? NO. Don’t remember, can’t remember. Doesn’t want. He can’t bring himself to move. He doesn’t want to feel the ache, the fire, the pain, but he needs to move. Someone will see him, but where can he go? Where? Where is he, what was he doing. . .

_ He was walking. Stopped to tie his shoelaces, moved into an alleyway so he doesn’t interfere with people on the sidewalk. Someone had pulled him up by the back of his shirt, dragging him farther into the alleyway, covered his mouth with a hand, bashed his head against the side of a building.  _

He doesn’t want to remember the rest but it comes on it’s own. Buttons popping off, rain starting. Dark. Dark. Cold. Wet. Pain. Bare skin, scratching into his back, painting his skin. His vomit is somewhere.

_ Going to the bus stop. He was going to the bus stop _ .

He knows where he is. He can. . .go. Somewhere. Safe. He needs to be safe. He’s scared. What’s going to happen? Why won’t the pain, the memories, they won’t stop. 

The pain stops. The feeling stops. The thoughts stop. It all stops. He doesn’t know it stopped.

Hair hanging over his bruised and scraped face. Eyes half-lidded. Stumbling onto his feet, pulling his boxers and jeans up, somehow buttoning and zipping them up. Flannel shirt. Missing buttons. Misaligned. He misses a few times. Tries not to touch the blood on them. Weight of his wallet and keys and phone in his pocket. Spectators to what had happened. 

Dirty.

No one is on the streets. It’s raining so much. His shoelaces are tied. The streets are already filled with a few centimeters of rain. Flooding. So much wind. Thunder. Lightning. Flinches at the noise. 

_ Not safe not safe not safe not safe _ .

Down the street. He knows these stores. Throat raw from the muffled screams, the salt, don’t remember don’t remember. Remembering. Don’t. Remember.  _ Please _ . Remember the pain, the shame, the humiliation and the fear- STOP IT STOP IT I DON’T WANT IT-

Don’t. Please. Just stop. Stop.  _ Stop _ .

It never stopped. It’s never going to stop.

Ignore the looks. Ignore the apprehension. Ignore the approaches. Flinch. Avoid. Avert. They know. They all know. They can’t know. Go. Go to the warmth. It’s cold. Is it cold? Why can’t he feel anything?

This is good. He doesn’t want to feel. 

Splashes. He remembers splashing in puddles as a kid, getting mud all over himself. Fun. This isn’t fun. He hates it. He hates the rain, the thunder, the lightning. He hates himself for letting it happen. Didn’t happen. He doesn’t hate anything. Nothing happened. 

Thunder booms and he bites his lower lip, drawing blood. More blood. Dripping. Thicker than the rain. Iron. Salty. No more bile to expel. Dribble. One step. Two step. Three step. Four step. Just a few more, a few more. 

Bright sign. Fluorescent. He remembers helping him open the Tokyo branch. Only a month ago.  _ So long ago _ . 

Help. Safety. Bright. 

But you’re dirty. You can’t make him dirty, you can’t have him protect you.  _ He’s the older one. He’s always protected you and you’ve always protected him _ . 

Dirty hand. Dirty scrapes. Red. Raw. It hurts. Shaking. Trembling. His hand never trembled before. Pressure. It hurts. But he’ll help. He always did. Cold. Wet. Disgusting. Soaked. Pitiful. Shameful.  _ You can still turn away! Don’t be selfish, always burdening him with your problems _ . 

He needs to be selfish. The world is tilting. It looks strange. It’s been doing that for a while now. _ Bashing head against the wall _ . He can hear their athletic trainer Iwaizumi whisper in his mind the diagnosis of a concussion. He doesn't like concussions. Never had one before.

Can’t bury it, can’t hide the secrets, can’t cover up the scars. 

Pushes the door open. 

It’s warm.

“Hey, welcome to Onigi-” he stops. Eyes widening in shock, mouth opening. A smirk doesn’t form. He’s not used to this look. It’s new. Foreign. Scary. He wants to be safe. “Sumu?” He doesn’t feel his mouth open, he doesn’t move from the doorway. The world is strangely blurry. Closer. He’s closer. Hat is off. Scared. Looks scared. Why is he scared? Are they not safe? What’s wrong? What’s going on?

Touches his shoulder. Safe. Run away. Touch.  _ Don’t don’t I’m dirty you can’t touch me you can’t you can’t you can’t _ \- 

His mind cuts off and his eyes close, world turning black. Shutting off. Powering down. Sleep.


	2. Osamu

It was raining pretty heavily outside. He could hear the rain slam down on the roof and he was thinking about closing shop early to head back to his apartment. The break room in the back has a couch but he doesn’t want to wait out the storm on the barely comfortable thing. It’s not even long enough for him to lie down on completely! 

The two other employees who had been here already left- Osamu decided to be a nice guy and let them off early since he’s pretty sure no one’s going to come in. The streets are empty and if the door opens, it’s probably going to let a little bit of rain flood in. 

He already closed the blinds, but put the chairs on the table, and now he was just chilling for a little bit longer, leaning against the countertop, munching on one of his onigiri. 

The door opens, the little bell jingling right before thunder booms outside. He can hear the rain- heavier than ever, and he hopes that the poor bloke who came in has an umbrella. He looks up when he doesn’t hear the door close, scowling. Do they know how much rain they’re letting in?

“Hey, welcome to Onigi-” he freezes. He blinks. And he processes. 

There’s a person standing there in the doorway to his restaurant. They’re trembling. Trembling, not shivering. Hunched over, a hand still on the door. There are dark stains on their disheveled clothing, buttons messily done, body dripping water, hair plastered over their face. Half-lidded eyes identical to his own, half of their face bruised and scraped red, red- blood- trickling from their lip. His mouth opens in shock. 

“Sumu?” Atsumu’s grey eyes, identical to his own, are dull and lifeless. “Sumu, hey, dumbass. What’re ya doin?” He takes his hat off, fear coursing through his body. He doesn’t care that the blond idiot is letting rain in. Somethings wrong. Very wrong. Did he get into a fight or something? 

Now that he’s closer, he can see things he didn’t see before. Bruises on his neck, like a handprint. Cuts on his hand, the one on the door red and bleeding. Scratches. Buttons missing from the flannel shirt. The stains are dark against the light-colored shirt.

His eyes widen because he doesn’t know for sure what happened, but he knows what those bruises probably mean, especially the ones that are uncovered by the shirt, bruise-like in color and circular in shape, scabbing over already.

He touches his brother’s shoulder and his eyes close, body tipping forward and hand leaving the door.

“I gotcha I gotcha” he whispers. “What the hell did ya get yourself into?” He pulls Atsumu forward, grunting under his weight, door closing behind them. He flips the sign on the other side of the blinds and turns the lock before adjusting his hold on Atsumu, tracking water across the floor. He leads him through the kitchen and to the backroom, grunting as he puts Atsumu on the couch. 

“Clothes clothes clothes” he mutters to himself, looking over his shoulder to check on Atsumu one last time. He looks horrible. He grabs towels and his own change of clothes that should fit Atsumu. He’s taller by just a centimeter or two than Atsumu but his brother also has more muscle on him, not that he’s unfit himself. He doesn’t have a lot of clothes here but he thinks the t-shirt should be cozy enough, the sweatpants are worn and cozy, the underwear will definitely fit. 

He pads back to Atsumu, first gently toweling his hair until it’s dry. He gently pats his face, stopping at the smallest facial twitch. Then he takes the flannel shirt off, wincing at the story painted across the front of his body. He wants to vomit. 

He barely makes it to the toilet, hands clutching the sides of the bowl, arms trembling. He can’t do this.  _ He can’t do this _ . His head touches the back of the seat and he squeezes his eyes shut. There were bruises and cuts, scattered. Bites and trailing red lines. Both of them have been in their fair share of fights, and he’s right. There was probably a fight, but Sumu didn’t start it. The tears start leaking out of his eyes and he starts crying, turning so that he’s leaning against the pot, pulling his legs to his chest and burying his face in his hands. 

He’s pathetic. His brother, his brother was most likely  _ raped.  _ And here he is, being overly sensitive. Nothing happened to him. He had been annoyed that someone had come into his restaurant. What if he had closed earlier? It’s flooding out there! He could have killed Sumu. And he wouldn’t have known. 

Squeezing his eyes shut one last time, he wipes the tears away and stands, flushing the toilet. He’ll change Atsumu’s clothes, drying him so that he at least doesn’t get a cold or anything. Then when he wakes up, he’s going to hug the shit out of him (gently, of course) and then he’s taking him to hospital to get checked up and then the police so that they can put the bastard who did this in jail. 

He’s truly happy for Japan’s strict legal system for the first time. 

He slides the shirt on and puts a towel over Atsumu’s lower body as he takes off his jeans and boxers, pats his legs with another towel, and slides on the boxers and sweatpants. He’s happy Atsumu doesn’t wake up. Not happy, more like relieved. He doesn’t want to deal with either a freak out or a look that radiates “ _ Sumu when did ya turn into a creep?” _

In the soaked pair of jeans are three items: phone, keys, wallet. He takes the yen notes out of the wallet to let them dry. He presses the button on the side of the phone, seeing if it works or not. The screen lights up and Osamu’s face softens when he sees the background picture: him and Atsumu in their first year of high school, wearing their Inarizaki uniforms. The screen has a crack in the upper right hand corner. There are a few texts and a miss call at the bottom of the screen from a Shoyou-kun. Shouyou. . .Hinata? Yes, a member of the Black Jackals and a player on the national team. Atsumu almost always picks up the phone, even if it’s a spam call just to mess with whoever’s on the other end. And texts being left unread, that never happens.

He looks at the times, swallowing. A little over an hour, about an hour and ten minutes. It started pouring an hour ago. He closes the phone and sets it on the table next to the keys and wallet before crouching on the floor next to the couch, feeling Atsumu’s forehead. It’s warm. He curses to himself. 

“Brother” he whispers, gently pressing his forehead to Atsumu’s, touch featherlight. He pulls away and sits on the floor, pulling his own phone out of his pocket. Opening the browser, his fingers hover over the keyboard before he starts his research, one search at a time. 


	3. Hey

It’s dark outside, and not just because of the rain clouds. The sun is down and Atsumu’s phone has rung a few times. Osamu was quick to power down the device, swallowing the lump in his throat. Atsumu had started shivering and he had quickly run across the street to a convenience store, buying a travel blanket and rushing back. He was still asleep. He covered him with the dark blue blanket, combing his hair away from his sweaty forehead. 

It feels uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this because this shouldn’t have happened to Atsumu, Atsumu whose only movement had been to turn onto his side in his sleep probably because a certain somewhere hurt too much. 

His phone was on it’s last five percent of battery and Osamu’s head was filled with information he never thought he’d need before. Even with that, he feels more lost than before. He feels the burden of responsibility on his shoulders. 

The whole time he was scared. He knows he shouldn’t be scared, he should be strong. For both himself and Atsumu. But how can he? Reading articles of patients who went through the same thing Sumu went through. Statistics. Hospitals. Mental side-effects. Trauma. PTSD. Diseases. Help lines. Depression. Suicide. Increased chance of doing drugs and drinking. Panic attacks. 

He doesn’t want any of that for Atsumu. 

He’d wrapped some bandages around his brother’s hands, protecting him from infection and reinjury with two pieces of tape placed to keep it on. And so that he could gently hold his hand, to somehow comfort him even in his slumber.

“Samu?” He hears a voice rasp by his ear, quiet. Osamu drops his phone and turns around, meeting his brother’s eyes. 

“Sumu'' sighs in relief and moves to comfort him. His mind freezes. How does he go about doing this? He can’t just touch him. He might panic, or not even want it. “Okay if I touch ya?” Atsumu’s eyes widened, as if he were remembering. His breathing quickens. “Hey, I’m ‘ere for ya and don't cha go forgettin’ that.”

“Hug” Atsumu rasps and Osamu gently wraps his arms around his brother. He’s pulled closer when Atsumu wraps his arms around him, tight, arms trembling. “I’m sorry Samu” he whispers. “I’m makin’ ya dirty.”

“Dumbass, I don’t care ‘bout that” Osamu says, forcing the tears to not rise as Atsumu buries his face into the crook of his neck. And then he pushes Osamu away, forcing him onto his bum. Atsumu is standing, legs shaking, eyes wide. 

“Shower, I need to shower” he says, “I ca-”

“I’m taking ya to the hospital,” Osamu says. His stomach churns. “I know you want to-”

“SHOWER YES! I CAN  _ FEEL  _ HIM!” Atsumu sobs. “And it’s so  _ cold and I can feel him Samu _ , it’s horrible. I-I ca-”

“Do you want ‘em to catch him or not?” Osamu hisses. “If yah didn’t notice, yer clothes are changed. I saw the bruises, I saw the cuts. You’re probably hurtin’ so fucking much right now.” He reaches his hand out and grips the cloth of his sleeve. “I looked it up, Sumu. They’re gonna do stuff you aren't going tah want, but then they’ll patch yah right up. You’ll take a shower. And you’ll be stayin’ with me.” Atsumu blinks. 

“Sa-”

“You’re my brother” he hisses. “More than that, we’re twins. I’ll text Aran that you ain’t gonna be at practice for a while. And no arguin’ with me. I didn’t sit here for hours just to have yah be stubborn.” Atsumu flinches and curls his shoulders forward, wrapping his arms around himself. He expects Atsumu to argue back. Hell, as annoying as it’d be he  _ wants  _ him to argue back. But he doesn’t. 

“Can we hurry?” Atsumu says instead. “Wanna get clean as soon as possible.” Osamu nods, grabbing his wallet, keys, phone, and also getting Atsumu’s stuff while giving his brother a cup of water. Then they leave.

  
  
  
  


The drive to the hospital is filled with Osamu having Atsumu talk to him about the national team. The olympics ended only three months ago, their victory over Argentina in the finals. Besides his mouth moving, Atsumu was absolutely still, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead. Osamu’s grip is tight on the steering wheel, happy for the limited amount of cars thanks to the rain. Atsumu doesn’t say anything except continue talking about their last practice when he jumps the third red light in a row.

When they finally reach the hospital, Osamu takes the umbrella out and hurries to help Atsumu out. His brother clings to his arm and it twists his heart. When they were little, Atsumu would be the one walking in front of Osamu, holding his hand and dragging him, letting Osamu hide behind him when he’s nervous or doesn’t like what’s in front of them. Now Atsumu, his brother, his twin, his best friend, is holding onto his arm in a death grip. He continues talking about the team, voice faster and hoarser, trying to distract himself. 

“You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine. I’ll even be there if yah want.” Atsumu nods, continuing his story about his conspiracy theories on how Iwaizumi is already friendly with Ushijima, the leading one being that the two of them are dating and that’s why Ushijima stayed instead of accepting an offer to play in Poland. 

They enter the hospital and Atsumu goes quiet, moving so he’s partially hidden by Osamu. He talks to the lady at the front desk about what happened and he  _ hates  _ the pitiful look she gives to Atsumu, who’s turned his head to look at something. She gives him some forms to fill out and says a doctor will be with them within the minute. 

The tests go by quickly, Atsumu holding Osamu’s hand the whole time. Osamu looks away most of the time to give his brother privacy and refuses to let go of his hand even when they have to take pictures of the injury to use in case (he  _ will _ ) Atsumu wants to press charges. Blood is drawn to test for STDs and he’s given a shot that will fight against any. 

He only lets go of his hand to shower. The shower takes half an hour. Osamu lets him, sitting right outside the stall on a wooden bench, the water failing to drown out the sounds of Atsumu crying.

The hospital gave Atsumu a change of clothes and took the ones he’d been wearing. There were stains on them. Osamu never wants to see them again.

The water turns off and it’s silent for a few moments, no movement to change, the clothes hanging over the top of the stall remaining there. After five minutes, the clothes are taken. A minute later, Atsumu is out. He takes Osamu’s hand. 

He leads out where a nurse waits for them, leading them to a different room. The nurse gives Osamu a salve to put on the bruises since Atsumu had started whimpering (he’ll never get that sound out of his head) when the nurse or doctor touched him. After he puts the salve on, he holds both of Atsumu’s professionally wrapped hands while the nurse wraps the bruises. She tells Osamu how to take care of the wounds and upon suggesting psychiatric help, Atsumu shakes his head. Osamu agrees with him. If he doesn’t want to, he won’t make him do it. If he asked him to take him to the North Pole, he’d take him. 

“Let’s go home,” Osamu says, holding the bag of medicine. There are pills to help with the healing, to keep his throat from getting permanently damaged, antibiotics for the pneumonia. There’s also written instructions on what he can and can’t eat for the time being, diet having to be free of solids and anything hot for his throat. Give him over the counter painkillers for the pain. 

They’re in the car when Osamu calls Aran, deciding it’ll be faster than texting. 

“Hello Osamu! Ya haven’t called for a while.”

“Yeah, I know,” Osamu replies. “Just called to tell yah that Sumu won’t be makin’ it to practice for a while. Got pneumonia.”

“That sucks” the man replies. “I hope he gets better. Must not be feelin’ well at all for not sending me an annoying text all day.”

“Yeah. It’s bad, but he’ll be fine. Got medicine. It’ll be a while though.”

“Got it. I’ll tell the coach. Thank you, Osamu.”

“No problem. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He ends the call.

“Samu?” Osamu moves his head to look at his brother, taking a turn. They’re almost at his apartment. The joys of luckily not being far from a hospital. “How do I forget ‘bout all of this?” Osamu looks away. 

“You can't,” he says. “You just. . .move on. Like that bird we found, remember? Died after a few days. We were cryin’ for days. Just like that.” 

“I just wanna’ be normal again” Atsumu hisses, leaning forward in his seat to rest elbows on his knees and hold his head. “I don’t wanna have to flinch everytime it rains or there’s thunder. I don’t wanna’ have to hate anyone’s touch ‘cept yours. They told me what might happen and-and, fuck, I don’t wanna have to go through  _ panic attacks _ . I don’t wanna’ have to not want to look at anything because anything can remind me of what happened just a few fucking hours ago!” His voice rises to nearly a shout and Osamu stops the car on the side of the road. 

“I’ll be with yah the whole time” Osamu states. “Anything that’s gonna trigger you, I’ll take care of it. You got a problem with anyone, I’ll take care of ‘em. Wanna’ move countries? I’ll go with ya. Told ya I’m never gonna leave yah back in high school. I  _ keep my promises _ .” 

Atsumu smiles 

It’s small. Barely there. It’s warm. He would've missed it if not for the fact Atsumu’s expression barely changed from neutral and scared for the past few hours. 

“I know,” he says. “What’s for dinner?”

“We’ll see” Osamu says. “Fruit smoothie alright with yah?”

“. . .Mango?”

“Sure.”


	4. Come upon week two

The first week is the hardest. 

The perks of being the founder of a popular onigiri restaurant with two locations is that he has a lot of money. Onigiri is popular, his onigiri is better than everyone else’s, and he doesn’t need a lot of employees. 

Everynight, Atsumu sleeps with him. The windows have to be covered, the bedroom door locked, and he wakes up every night either whimpering or screaming. After that happens, none of them go back to sleep. 

When they watch TV, it can’t be gory. They have to watch either children’s shows or shojo anime. He has to hold Atsumu’s hand eighty percent of the day. 

Atsumu also throws up a lot. It’s painful to watch his brother break down in front of him. He knows he’s trying to heal. It was both good and bad when one night, Atsumu couldn’t stop talking, describing what happened that day in explicit detail. 

Osamu joins Atsumu with the anit-solid diet. Breakfasts of porridge and miso-soup without any solids and minimal spice. Fruit or vegetable smoothies for lunch. Another shake in the middle of the day after Atsumu usually has a panic attack. Atsumu hates the panic attacks. Osamu hates them because Atsumu hates them, always ranting about how pathetic and horrible and worthless he is after them. Sometimes he even screams at Osamu. About how he can take care of him. How he stands to watch him. If he’s only taking care of him because of some superiority complex.

That ended with Osamu hugging Atsumu for nearly an hour while Atsumu holds his shoulders in a bruising grip. 

Of course, Atsumu continues to practice volleyball. Even with his pneumonia he refuses to give himself a break. But it helps. It keeps his mind off and it makes both of them happy to be playing with each other again, going to a rec center early in the morning for an hour so that they can avoid as many people as possible. 

Now it’s the middle of week two. 

Atsumu’s phone piles up with missed calls and texts. Atsumu texts back, but only after lunch. It’s usually a text that leads to a panic attack. It makes Osamu want to punch whoever’s on the other end. 

“Samu” Atsumu calls from across the apartment. His voice is no longer quiet and hoarse but they don’t have their old relationship back, of calling eachother idiot, dumbass, getting in arguments and wrestling because of the littlest things. Osamu doesn’t have to hold his hand or be near him all the time now, but Atsumu likes the physical contact now. It confused Osamu at first, because the websites he read said that most rape victims shy away from touch, but Atsumu is actively seeking it. But only from him. And for comfort. 

“Yeah, what is it?” Osamu says, peeking into the bathroom. Atsumu is wearing an old Inarizaki shirt, a little tight around the shoulders on him. He lowers his hand from where it was positioned in his hair. 

“I wanna change my hair.” 

“What d’ya mean by that?”

“I wanna remove the dye. I like my hair and all, but right now, it makes me feel weird every time I look at it and it ain’t gettin’ better.” He pulls at the locks. 

“You want to change colors? You could try red.” Atsumu lets out a huff. Shadows have made themselves at home under both of their eyes, but they’re darker on Atsumu. Atsumu turns around and hugs Osamu, wrapping his arms around his waist, resting his head on his shoulder. 

“I’d look horrible,” Atsumu says. “Didn’t yah hear me the first time? I wanna get the dye removed.” He lifts his head up and steps back, staring Osamu right in the eye. “It’s been a while since people have been confusion’ us anyway.” He says more quietly.”

“You wanna’ go out and get it done?” Osamu asks. It’ll be the first time Atsumu will actually interact with someone. 

“And then we can go an’ get ice cream.” Atsumu says. “If it’s fine with ya.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You probably don’t wanna look like me.”

“Sumu. . .It’s okay. Who am I to stop ya from havin’ black hair again?”

  
  
  
  
  


Osamu nearly cries tears of joy when they get to the salon and Atsumu is as close to normal as he can be. Two weeks isn’t a long time for trauma recovery. It’s a long time for Osamu and for Atsumu too. His brother is probably wishing every day that the next day he won’t have a panic attack, the next day he’ll have a full night’s sleep. That the next day he won’t have to text his team he can’t come back yet because he still has the pneumonia he recovered from three days ago, confirmed by his doctor along with the okay to slowly reintroduce solids into his diet. 

Atsumu sits in the salon chair, chatting away with the hairdresser who happens to be a volleyball fan who was cheering him on at the Olympics, even taking a photo with him. 

The process takes half an hour. Osamu watches the gold get stripped away from his brother’s hair, turning into a weird blackish-yellow before the first strands start to return to their original form. Atsumu keeps his eyes closed the whole time. After the color is all out, Atsumu’s hair is washed, conditioned, and then blow-dried to his usual style and parting. 

“Does he look identical to me yet?” Osamu jokes from the waiting room. The hairdresser looks at Atsumu’s reflection and then at Osamu, eyes widening when he sees the similarity now that Osamu took his hat off. He laughs. 

“Oh my gods, yes! I didn’t know Miya-san has a twin!”

“Sadly, I do.” Atsumu says, finally blinking his eyes open and staring at his reflection. Osamu can feel his eyes prickling at the quip. Osamu pays the hairdresser while Atsumu awes over his natural hair. 

“It’s been so long” Atsumu whispers and Osamu can’t help but laugh. 

“Looks good on yah but it’s strange seeing yah lookin’ like me.” Atsumu smirks. 

“Ice cream? And maybe we can add getting matching outfits?” Osamu lightly punches him on a spot of his arm that he knows doesn’t have any bruises. He’s lucky that it’s just about to become winter and the turtlenecks he wears outside of Osamu’s apartment can be worn without looking strange. They only went to Atsumu’s apartment once, and that was only so that he could grab basically all of his winter clothes and underwear, along with his jerseys and practice shirts. He wasn’t planning on facing his team anytime soon, though. 

They stop at an ice cream stand before going to a park and taking a walk while eating the treat. They both got chocolate, Atsumu making sure to bite into it when Osamu does. They soon find a rhythm, holding it in the same hand. Atsumu even quickly changes the direction of the parting, even though it looks strange because it’s going against the direction it was styled in so that the two of them are identical except for the barely noticeable concealer on Atsumu’s face and their clothes. 

After the ice cream, they go shopping. And they buy two identical turtlenecks and sweats. 

It’s a good day, both of them smiling and laughing. It’s almost normal, just like the way they used to be. Atsumu is still not alright but for now, he’s fine. The demons are kept at bay, Atsumu holding his bag in his left hand, Osamu holding his bag in his right, their hands entwined together as Osamu tells Atsumu about the latest ridiculous thing that the person he put in charge at the restaurant called him about. 

They decide to stop by the restaurant after that. Atsumu doesn’t like being touched but he doesn’t flinch. Osamu is happy. He’s proud. He’s recovering faster than he hoped he would, being twelve days since that horrible rainy day. 

Osamu heads to the kitchen to see how the newest batch of Onigiri are looking. The employees welcome Atsumu like family, giving him a tray of three onigiri to munch on. Atsumu leans on the countertop next to the cash register, chatting to the newest customer for a minute or so before they leave with a pleasant goodbye and a bag of onigiri. 

Atsumu happily munches on his next onigiri. He remembers coming here so many days ago, the memory not as fresh as it was yesterday. All he remembers is seeing Samu and passing out in the doorway. He’d been overjoyed when the two of them entered the restaurant and the bell had sounded pleasant, not muting the world around him until it’s only him and the memory. 

The bell rings again just as Atsumu takes another bite.

“Hey, Osamu-san! You’re finally back!” Atsumu freezes and looks up, recognizing all four of them: Hinata, Kageyama, Bokuto, and Sakusa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soiosgbsdogbsoibg  
> Hinata  
> Kageyama  
> Bokuto  
> S A K U S A  
> *whispers*:: _what's gonna happen now?_


	5. Sumu

“Hey, Osamu-san! You’re finally back!” 

Atsumu stopped his chewing. He knew he should swallow more but he couldn’t stop himself from swallowing, chunks of onigiri rubbing against the still kind of raw sides of his throat. That feeling alone makes his heart beat faster. The employee manning the cashier sends him a look. 

“Sorry, can’t stay for long.” Atsumu says, trying his best to seem like Osamu. Make his face less expressive, lower his eyelids a little, don’t pay too much attention to Sakusa, and stand taller. 

_ Get away get away get away get away _ . 

“Hey hey that’s alright” Bokuto says. “Just grabbing some grub for practice. Onigiri hasn’t tasted the same without you making it, right Kags?”

“Sure.” Kageyama says. 

“I haven't made any yet,” Atsumu says, adding a shrug, “Still takin’ time off.”.  _ Good, good so far _ . He moves to behind the counter. He’ll be able to make it out the back exit. 

“The usual?” The employee manning the cash register asks. Atsumu can feel Sakusa’s eyes on him. He’s probably frowning past that stupid mask of his. He never shows concern for Atsumu, always treating the rest of the team with at least some cordiality at times. He even high-fived Hinata once after hand sanitizing both of their hands. 

“Do you know when your idiot brother is coming back to practice or is he still sick?” Sakusa says. 

“Omi, don’t be so mean! Atsumu’s sick, remember?” Sakusa doesn’t shudder at the word. He just keeps his eyes on Osamu. 

“I’m keepin’ his stupid ass at home. He’s recovering but knowin’ how lazy he is it’ll be bit longer.”  _ You’re worthless, aren’t you? What happened to being a hotshot volleyball player? Can’t fight your way out of an alleyway. How stupid. Now be quiet, it’ll be easier for you. You’re lazy, right? It’ll be less effort for both of us. _

He had a good week. He knows it. He’s been able to piece himself quickly back together, trying to forget about anything that could remind him of that rainy day. 

The world is turning a little. He’s not dizzy. But the colors seem weird and his chest seems constricted. Panic attack. Here out of all places? No, no, not here not now. Get away get away GET AWAY. 

“I have’ta go now. Urgent business.” Atsumu says, not even thinking about trying to act more like Osamu. But it should work. Their voices are almost identical, probably one of the only things that could tell them apart when they were kids. 

“Wait, Osamu-san! You promised me I could show you this-” he doesn’t know what Hinata’s saying because suddenly his hand is wrapped around his wrist and he’s pulling away, ripping his hand out of Hinata’s, eyes blown wide with panic. The only thing stopping him from hitting his head against the wall behind him is his heel hitting it first, onigiri abandoned on the countertop. He sees Sakusa’s brow furrow, he sees Hinata look hurt, Kageyama confused, Bokuto’s smile dropping. He thinks Hinata’s mouth is moving. The faded bruises on his wrist flares up with a phantom pain. 

_ They know they know _ -

“HEY” he hears a voice cut cleanly through the static, the haze, the heavy cloak of memories. He can only hear Osamu’s voice. His brother, older than him by only a few minutes. Atsumu immediately grabs for his hand and Osamu wraps an arm around him, protecting him, hiding him from view, from the rest of the world. The only person he can trust in a world of traitors and liars, absent parents and abandoned friendships, teammates who know and should know nothing but now. . .now. . .now. . .

“Sumu, you’ll be alright now.”

He thinks he hears something about there being two Osamus. 

“No, please” he’s begging? Samu? “Don’t ask. He’ll tell yah on his own. We’re goin’ home now.” Atsumu sees Hinata from over Osamu’s shoulders and through stray pieces of black hair. He feels dead inside. He must look dead on the outside to make Hinata flinch back like that. “Come on.” Osamu whispers soothingly and softly and Atsumu turns so that he can walk, Osamu taking the bags they had abandoned behind the counter. 

  
  
  
  
  


Sakusa didn’t know why, but something was wrong. Since that day almost two weeks ago when Aran had texted the team that Atsumu won’t be coming to practice for a while because of pneumonia. It was raining a lot that day. Pneumonia is usually gotten from inhaling water with bacteria or something living inside of it. It was raining. Water inhalation. That means Atsumu had probably been in the rain. 

Then Atsumu never texted. He was radio silent. For about five days. Then he finally texted back to everyone’s texts and they were all relieved. But Sakusa had seen the frown on Iwaizumi’s face and he knew that their Athletic Trainer had the same thoughts as him:

Something was wrong. And they could tell because of the lack of random rants and the use of full sentences. Even selecting the correct kanji to replace a set of hiragana. Atsumu’s texts are almost always in only hiragana because he doesn’t like using kanji, no matter how much it messes with interpreting what some sentences may mean. He has zero confusion with any of Atsumu’s texts now. 

It was also obvious that Atsumu was in Osamu’s care, since the other twin hasn’t been in the onigiri restaurant the National team favors so much. 

Their coach alerted the team that Atsumu emailed him that he will be taking a short leave of absence due to illness and recovery. 

Sakusa also discovered a pattern to Atsumu’s texts: he only texts from between noon and 3:00 PM. 

It was right before practice, nearly two weeks later, and Sakusa was actually getting a bit concerned. He had read up on pneumonia and was even considering visiting Osamu’s apartment after getting the address from Aran so that he could check on how Atsumu was doing. The idiot should feel honored, then. There would be so much germs. But Sakusa lives in a world where he was finally able to get friends (not that he’d tell them he thinks of them like that) who understand him and adjust for him.

He’s accepted to go to Onigiri Miya with Kageyama, Hinata, and Bokuto to get some of the treat for themselves and the team, even though Sakusa doesn’t actually like onigiri he does like the drinks the restaurant offers. 

When they entered, the bell tinkled lightly. Sakusa likes that bell. It’s not annoying and doesn’t rattle too much. 

  
Hey, Osamu-san! You’re finally back!” Hinata had exclaimed. Osamu replied back but Sakusa wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. 

There was something wrong with Osamu. 

For one, he looks tired. There were shadows under his eyes and his hair looked a bit strange. It also looks like he has makeup on one of his cheeks. He wasn’t in uniform, meaning that he hadn’t come in for work. Munching on onigiri just because it’s onigiri? That sounds like him. But his responses were a little slow to come and he hadn’t moved to ruffle Hinata’s hair like he usually does. He seemed to struggle slightly with what words would come out of his mouth, his words sounding a bit rough. 

He had then excused himself to do something but Hinata had called to him. This happens everytime, Osamu usually smirking as he’d pretend to go back to his job while Hinata would grab him to pester him some more, the employee manning the cash register wearing an exasperated but fond look. But this time, the employee looked hesitant, unsure. 

Then Hinata had grabbed Osamu’s wrist. 

Sakusa can still see it in slow motion, with perfect clarity. 

He had ripped himself out of Hinata’s hold, violently. Almost hitting himself against the back wall as if to get farther away from them even with the counter dividing them. The panic in his eyes, dilated pupils, gaze not really focusing on anything, his breath picking up. The employee at the cash register retreats into the kitchen.

“Osamu” Sakusa tries, raising his voice over Hinata’s blabbering “You need to calm down.” He considers reaching out to Osamu, maybe standing closer to him to try and comfort him through what is clearly going to become a panic attack, but why is Osamu panicking? He’s calm and collected, unlike his brother. It’s almost easy to blend Osamu and Atsumu together, to replace Osamu’s face with a slightly more suntanned version with golden-blond hair and a permanent seeming casual smirk.

“HEY!” Sakusa hears Osamu shout but his mouth hasn’t moved since he had backed up. And the new voice sounded normal, exactly like Osamu. 

And then Osamu appeared, wearing casual clothes, but different clothes than the Osamu standing in front of him. Sakusa blinks once, then twice. 

“There’s  _ two  _ Osamus?” Hinata squawked. “Osamu number two, I’m sorry! Osamu number one just sort of panic-” He’s cut off by a glare from who Sakusa knows is the actual Osamu, then that means. . .

“Sumu, you’ll be alright now” Osamu tells Atsumu, who’s backed up against the wall like a cornered animal. And Sakusa sees it, the minute differences between the two. Atsumu looks thinner. Why is his hair black again? Sakusa has never seen the setter with his natural hair color. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

“Osamu, what’s wrong with Atsumu?” Sakusa bites out because he’s worried goddamn it. He doesn’t care for a lot of people but his fuse has been burning short with how strange Atsumu’s illness had seemed and to see him having a panic attack, it was like he was looking at a different person. Did the Miyas have a triplet? 

“No, please” Osamu says, eyes still holding worry as he addresses Sakusa. Atsumu has latched himself onto Osamu, like how a child would hold onto their parent after getting lost. “Don’t ask. He’ll tell yah on his own. We’re goin’ home now.” Atsumu raises his head from Osamu’s shoulder just a little, eyes looking like a doll’s: glassy and dead. Hinata flinches back. “Come on” Osamu whispers, not even looking at them as he quickly leads Atsumu away, the two looking identical from the back. 

Osamu, being polite to his brother. No bite in his words. No annoyance. Just concern. 

“Don’t tell anyone about this” Sakusa orders his three teammates. “We weren’t supposed to see that. We aren’t going to intrude.”

“Aren’t you worried?” Bokuto asks and he looks angry. 

“Of course I am!” Sakusa snaps. “Didn’t you see how Atsumu was just like? He’s not sick, something else is wrong. Personal, probably. Now shut up, get the onigiri, and forget any of this happened.”

If only he could follow his own words. 


End file.
